


No, it's you.

by wordsinthedark (VanScritto)



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanScritto/pseuds/wordsinthedark
Summary: It had taken André weeks to get his head around the idea of leaving, of not being with Jev for the next season — and fuck, he had wanted to give Jev the same time to process the idea. He still wants that for Jev, but the next race is looming over them like a sledgehammer.





	No, it's you.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so we all watched the NYC race on Saturday and it was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. And there went my brain, what with Jev's aggression on the track, about how he may have found out about André leaving right before the start of the race and ... here we go.

André actually wonders if it's the season that is cursed, the entire Formula series or just the rest of his career.

There's a real chance he will never win another race again, he thinks, and realizes that he's being overly dramatic. But that race is still singing through his bones and he _feels_ it tugging at his consciousness. One lap behind everyone, _one entire lap_. It's been quite a while since he had felt so useless in a race, but there he was. Penultimate race of the Formula E series and it was a mad show. For everyone.

 _At least it made for good television_ , André tries to rationalize, but that still doesn't make him feel better. There's still a team championship on the table for him and Jev, and it's the only championship André really cares about anyway.

He _needs_ this championship more than he _wants_ it, because it's the last chance for him to achieve anything together with Jev. After this, it's over.

There's a small thought of a silver lining as he rides the elevator up to the rooftop terrace for something to calm his nerves before tomorrow. With as terrible as the season has been for him, it's easier to defend his decision. Already, he has a long list compiled with all the reasons why this is the best move for him — for André, the racing driver. This shitty race just adds one more reason to that list, makes his arguments that much stronger when it's finally time to present them.

The temperatures are still high, even as the sun begins to set and he orders a non-alcoholic drink at the bar, something bitter to soothe his nerves. He knows Jev is here, too, has caught a glimpse of him as soon as he had stepped on the terrace. It's funny how that works for him, André thinks, how wherever he is, he can just locate Jev in the room. Like a magnet that will always know where North is, André always knows where Jev is — and that is a reason on his list, too, but one he won't say out loud.

André can tell that Jev's mood is shit and maybe that should deter him from bothering his teammate, but everybody's mood is shit —except, maybe Lucas'— and so he steps beside Jev's large frame and mumbles a greeting into his drink.

Jev spares him only a quick glance, his face contorted into a mask of barely contained fury that André can't remember ever seeing. It takes him aback and if he didn't know any better, he'd think that this fury was directed at _him_.

They stand in silence for a moment, before the discomfort of Jev's mood creeps into André and he can't help but open his mouth to commiserate.

"What a fucking shit show."

Jev just downs the last of his drink and puts the glass down so hard on the railing that it clinks dangerously.

"Yeah, thanks for that," he says, turns and walks away.

It takes André's brain a weirdly long amount of time to understand what Jev had just said, what he'd _implied_ , before he can order his feet to follow. He catches up with Jev by the elevators just as the doors open.

"What do you want?", Jev asks, hostility dripping out of his mouth. It's never been like that, not even after Santiago a year ago when André had almost caused Jev and himself to crash. At least André had been in the wrong then, even if he still has a hard time admitting that.

But this time, _this time_ , André hadn't done anything. _He_ had suffered the most in the first crash, _he_ had had to wait to get his front wing replaced because Jev was getting fixed up, _he_ had finished the race dead last after an eternity of chasing everyone else with a lap to spare.

"What do you mean, _what do you want_? I didn't crash into you!" The doors of the elevator close on them, giving them the privacy this conversation desperately needs but André isn't sure he wants. Maybe he should step away, they still have a race tomorrow, after all, and fighting with Jev is just going to add pressure to both of them.

 _Team championship_ , André reminds himself.

"No, you didn't. You fucking _plowed_ over me, you fucking asshole."

"I— What? What are you talking about?"

Sure, there'd been crashes, but even Jev must have seen that it was a Mahindra who rode over him and not André. Jev just shakes his head, his eyes fixed to the floor. It looks like he wants to say something but doesn't quite find the words and André feels himself glued to the other side of the elevator. The ding of the elevator door shakes Jev out of it.

"When were you going to tell me? That you signed with Porsche?"

André feels like he's being kicked in the gut.

"You know?"

"Evidently." Jev snorts and the elevator door closes on them. Neither one of them moves to press another button.

André has so many questions and, even worse, he realizes he doesn't have his _list_ and this was not how he imagined this conversation to go down. He had it all planned out for the Tuesday after this, so they'd have the Monday for celebrating Jev's championship or the team championship or, should all of this go to shit, for commiserating together much like he had planned on doing just now.

"How?", André asks and realizes too late that it is the wrong question. Jev shoots him a look that could wither his insides if he didn't already feel dead and presses the button to open the elevator doors to charge onto the hotel floor. André follows, naturally, although he has no idea where they're headed, since both their rooms are occupied. "Jev, wait," he tries to whisper-scream as Jev pushes the door to the staircases open.

"Wait? You're asking me to _wait_?" Jev turns around quickly, the door falling shut behind them and André finds himself being pushed against it. The dim lights in the staircase hide Jev's angry face from him, but there's still Jev's voice and it is laced with every dark emotion André can think of. "You didn't _wait_ for me, did you? You didn't even tell me. You didn't even have the decency to let me in on this. How long have you known, huh? How long have you looked into my face and lied to me?"

Jev crowds against André, his breath ghosting over André's face and André's brain seems to short circuit, because it reminds him of all the fantasies he's had that start out with a similar closeness. It's a good reminder of why he's doing this.

"A couple of weeks," André supplies weakly. "I'd have told you next week."

"Next week. After we win the championship."

"Yes, after we win the championship. I wanted to end it on a high note for you."

"How very fucking _generous_ of you." Jev shoves at him, but André has nowhere to go. "Why? Why are you leaving?"

Oh God, the list would come in quite handy now, wouldn't it?

"You know I am already under contract for Porsche. It would be stupid not to take their offer."

"Right, of course."

"Besides," André continues, then catches himself. He really wanted this to go differently, and he's not even sure he should go on, but Jev is fisting his T-Shirt on his chest and breathing on him. André might not ever get the chance to explain himself, knowing Jev and his ability to hold grudges. "Techeetah is yours, Jev. You know that."

"No, it's _ours_ ," Jev says. "It's you and me, André, always has been." He leans his forehead against André's, using his entire body to keep André in place and _does he even know how much he's torturing André right now_?

"It's not. The team is yours, I was always the sidekick. I am trudging after you, collecting your scraps." André says the words and hopes that Jev doesn't understand the double meaning of them. That Jev doesn't know how much André feels like a puppy that Jev plays with whenever he's bored, with no intention of actually making him a part of his life. Too much and not enough at the same time, somehow. It's pathetic, really, a new low even for André who should be used to this by now. How many times did he find himself feeling something for a teammate or a colleague with no hopes of it ever being reciprocated and how many times was he helpless, getting dragged and kicked around until there was nothing left for him to salvage?

At least this time he's smart enough to get out of it before it destroys him entirely.

"Is it because of the merchandise? You can have more merchandise, André, you just have to ask," Jev whispers.

"It's not because of the merchandise. You know I am shit at all of this marketing stuff."

Jev huffs a laugh, his nose brushing against André's in the process. André lifts his hands, wants to bring some distance between Jev and him, but in the end finds himself aimlessly petting against Jev's sides as if to soothe him. It has the effect of Jev leaning into the touch.

"Is it because of Neel? Do you like him better than me?" Jev sounds like a petulant child now, the storm drained from his voice, and André strokes his hands further across Jev's torso, slowly circling his back.

"I don't, no." There's really no person in the world that André currently likes better than Jev, but he can't say that out loud. He's been so good these past two years, despite all the witty banter, the promo videos, the _Jeandre_ tag and the teasing. Even during that night at the hotel that still haunts his dreams with all the possibilities it had presented, André behaved. "I want a shot at winning, Jev. I want to be on that podium, I want to be in the fight."

"You _are_ in the fight. Or you _were_ , you know. Before Bern, before the penalty, before—" Jev stops talking for a moment and lifts his head far enough to look André in the eye. "Is it because of the team? Do you want to switch someone? Just—"

"It's not … Fuck, Jev, it's not any of those things alone. It's _all_ of them." He takes a deep breath, steels himself for the next words. "And it's done now, anyway. I didn't want to tell you before the races, because I didn't want to mess with your head. I wanted to finish this season strong. Together."

André tries to push himself off the door, get some distance between Jev and himself, but Jev is either surprisingly dense or not particularly interested in granting André his personal space right now.

"Is it because you want to fuck me?"

André's head snaps up. "What? No!"

"It would be easier to do that if we were teammates, you know?" Jev moves again, rocks his hips against André's in a slow rhythm. "All that time we'd have to spend together anyway. I could suck you off between sim sessions, if that's what you want."

"I don't want that," André says helplessly, but the idea Jev put into his head together with the motion of his hips is sending signals to his body that he can't control. He can feel his dick getting hard.

"I beg to differ. I see the way you look at me. I've heard the rumors. And I ate a shit ton of bananas in front of you to know what you're thinking when I do it. What you're thinking _now_."

Jesus, really?

"You swallowed bananas to check if I was thinking of you swallowing dick?" It sounds pretty ridiculous when André says it out loud, but Jev just shrugs like it's a normal thing to do. "And here I thought you had some really bad potassium deficiency."

"Are you thinking about potassium now, too?", Jev challenges and moves one of his hands to cover André's crotch. The touch is the last straw that André needs for his composure and somehow he finds the strength to step to the side and out of Jev's grip.

"For fuck's sake, Jev, what are you doing?" André takes a few more steps and a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. This is not at all how he wants this conversation to go. "Maybe we should talk about this on Tuesday."

"We're not talking about it on Tuesday," Jev says. "We're talking about it now."

Of course, they are. Because why would André get the opportunity to collect himself, to present his arguments in an orderly fashion? Jev wants to talk _now_ , so that's what happens. Just like everything that Jev wants.

"What do you expect me to say to you right now? The deal is done, Jev. The ink has dried. Porsche is buying me out and nothing will change that. Not the merchandise, not the car, not the team and certainly not you offering up your ass for a pity fuck."

"It wouldn't be a pity fuck," Jev says and then adds, "All you had to do was ask." He looks so small suddenly, his arms dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists. It had taken André weeks to get his head around the idea of leaving, of _not being with Jev_ for the next season — and fuck, he had wanted to give Jev the same time to process the idea. He _still_ wants that for Jev, but the next race is looming over them like a sledgehammer.

"And then what? Hypothetically, if I had asked, what would have happened? Hurried handjobs between tire stacks? A blowjob for a podium? A quick fuck after qualifying on pole? Is that what you think I want out of this?" Jev doesn't answer. "It's not what I want."

He pushes past Jev to open the door to the hotel floor.

"Then what do you want?", Jev asks quietly behind him.

 _I want you, all of you_ , André almost says, the words on his tongue. _I want to wake up next to you and go to sleep next to you. I want you in my house and in my bed and in my kitchen. I want your attention and your love and I want to be the only one for you. I want to be okay with who I am and who I'm with. I want to not have to hide anymore._ He can't say any of those things, of course.

And really, that's not the reason why he's leaving anyway, so instead he says, "I want to be champion."


End file.
